Shattered
by Divine Sally Bowles
Summary: 9Rose. "He died in front of me twice. He died twice because I was stupid enough to think I could save him." After the events of "Father's Day", the Doctor offers comfort to a hurting Rose.


**A/N: Hi, all! As with my previous two Nine/Rose fics, this was in response to a Livejournal ficathon. Nine had to say "I love you" to Rose in the context of the prompt _shake / shudder / shatter._ I'd always really wanted to write something post-"Father's Day", and this is what came out. I hope everyone enjoys the angsty hurt/comfort... stuff that's going on here, and reviews are always much obliged!**

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Shattered

It was something she'd done as a kid—something everyone does, really. When she couldn't sleep, she'd get a glass of water, sit in the kitchen, thinking or reading or just sitting there, tracing her fingers on the glass, listening to her own breathing.

After everything she'd been through today, she needs that childish comfort, that reminder of her childhood on the Powell Estate, just her and her mum. She lays there for a moment, tangled in the bedsheets from all the tossing and turning she's done during the past few hours, and gets up, heading to the TARDIS's kitchen. Well, what could pass as one, anyway. It's not as though they do much cooking; the Doctor's been to so many planets that he's a walking Zagat survey for interplanetary cuisine.

She walks to the sink, getting a glass and turning on the faucet, filling it with water. As she goes to raise the glass to her lips, she realizes that her hands are shaking too hard, that water is sloshing over the top and dripping onto her arm. Her legs feel weak, and she leans into the counter, closing her eyes as her mind returns again, unbidden, to the conversation from earlier.

"_Still, he's not in charge anymore. I am."_

"_But you can't…"_

"_Who am I, love?"_

"_My daddy!"_

A sob escapes her before she can stop herself, and she drops the glass, which shatters against the floor of the TARDIS. She tries to ignore the tears running down her cheeks as she kneels, trying to pick up the glass pieces so that they don't injure anyone. Her hands are still shaking and she knows that handling glass isn't exactly what she should be doing, but pain distracts her from the tears, from the thought of that conversation, from the memory of seeing her father die, twice, right in front of her.

"Rose?"

The Doctor's voice, behind her, close enough that she should have heard him approach. It startles her, and she clenches her fist involuntarily, not realizing she's still holding the glass, and she gives a whimper of pain that comes from more than the injury. She knows it's pathetic, knows she's worse than a child right now, but she can't seem to stop the tears and the memories running through her mind are breaking her down. She wants to say something, but she knows that whatever words she could work up would be incoherent, so she doesn't, instead sobbing into her hands, one of them bloody.

The arms around her startle her, and she feels her tears soaking the slightly scratchy wool of his jumper as he gently picks her up, one of his arms encircling her shoulders, the other resting under her knees. She wraps her arms around his neck, shuddering with sobs, and she hears him whispering reassurances in a certain soothing way, calmer than she's ever heard him.

He brings her to her bedroom, gently setting her down on her bed and touching her shoulder, telling her he'd be right back. He returns a few minutes later with a cloth, using it as a bandage for her bleeding palm.

Her sobs have quieted into silent, sniffling tears, and he wraps his arm around her, holding her close to his chest. "Oh, Rose," he says, quietly enough that she almost doesn't hear it.

"I was right to be worried. You're still thinking about him."

"I can't help it." Rose wipes at her face, looking up at him with wet eyes. "He died in front of me _twice_. He died twice because I was stupid enough to think I could save him."

"You're not stupid, Rose. You're human."

"Sometimes you seem to think that's the same thing."

"Sometimes, but not with you. Rose, faced with the chance you had, most would have done the same. Stopped him from dying." He hesitates for a moment or two before he adds, "There's been times when I'd've done it myself."

"All right. Maybe I did the thing most people would do, but…" She takes a breath, steadying herself, shifting closer, almost imperceptibly, in his hold. "But it doesn't change that he died. That I saw him take his last breath, that… that my mum had to see that."

"Rose." He puts his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his. "You…" He starts to say something before he pauses, backpedaling. "D'you want to know why I travel with you? D'you know what I love about you?"

She shakes her head, and he forges on. "I love you because you're brave, Rose. Other people would've asked to see a loved one before they died, like we did at the wedding. Other people would have been content with that glimpse of… happiness. Of vitality, life. But you, Rose… you asked to be there for him as he died. You wanted to make sure he wouldn't die alone, even knowing how much it would hurt to see. You're brave, Rose Tyler. Don't forget it."

She nods, and he wipes away the single tear that slips down with his thumb, keeping his arm around her and gently stroking his fingers along her upper arm. Finally, she pulls away, glancing down at the bandage on her hand and then back up at him. "I'm sorry. About the glass, and startling you into finding me there…"

"I'm glad it did. You shouldn't be alone and upset."

She smiles faintly, and he gets up so that she can lie down again. He hesitates in the doorway, holding her gaze momentarily before she says haltingly, "Doctor?"

"Yes, Rose?"

Quieter than before, she pleads softly, "Can you stay?"

And he stands there for a moment before he quietly acquiesces, going back to sit at the end of her bed. She reaches for his hand, and he puts it in hers, grasping it just as he had earlier that day.

Even when she falls asleep, he doesn't let go.


End file.
